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‘From the Christian Observer. MORAL DISCIPLINE. Some saints are smitten seven time3, And them God loveth most, — They’re singled out, For larger service to the Master here, And ’round the emerald throne to stand more near. ’Twas beaten oil for ancient altar use, Sweet incense beaten too, — From mplten brass thetemp’e pillar shone, And roughly hewn apart each coitly stone. The treasures of our earth lie deep, The riven rocks yield gold, And there is dross, — But with the furnace heated seven-'o’d. One sitteth by and doth refine the go and. Unsightly shells we break for gems, , The healing leaves are bruised, And wine grapes pressed,— The husbandman must cut, then thresh his wheat, And thresh it long ere itfsfor the garner meet. ’Tis not the gilded clouds give rain, But those that black’ning frown, And lowest hang,— ’Tis not smooth waters bear the barque most safe and soon, But rough sea-waves that bring the traveller home. E’en thus the discipline of lie, The saints mu9t suffer here, — But AFTER HERE, "When they have ceased to want and wander o’er, They’ll need the Father's smiling hand no more. Jfamilg lUahing. THE FALSE CHRIST. ▲ TALE OF TIIE SECOND FALL OF JERUSALEM. CHAPTER VI. Lucia had little idea, scarcely more than her babe, in what a world of fierce strife and storms her little home circle was set. Rome in its height of power, like a wave at its fullest swell: who could tell that the very soaring crest ol its pride was the sign of its breaking? Trajan’s"conquests had indeed been a little narrowed by Adrian—a wise act of consolidation, perhaps only the recoil before the spring. On some of the fron tiers walls had been built, on others bridg es had been destroyed, to prevent the in cursions of the barbarians; but what was theje to indicate that these preparations were other than the wise repose of a satis fied conqueror, —that in the East the em pire was rapidly becoming a besieged city, that the barbarians in the North were different from those who had been kept within their own limits on tlic East and South ? The terrible meaning of the name of Goth had yet to be learned, and the might of a race which defeat could only teach to conquer. With the power of action, the Greeks seem to have lost energy of thought. Intel lect divorced from those active duties which are at once its spur aud rein, wandered aim lessly hither and thither,—lost in transcen dental speculation, or intently employed spinning cobwebs to entangle itself. With the hills and the sea around them, the skies and the green flowery earth, human life and ] ove they only ventured to see as others had seen, and admire what others had point ed out. Placing the glory of their old lit erature between them and nature, instead of facing it,— inserting the mirror into the window-frame, they lost the view outside, and saw in the mirror only an image of themselves. Thus, to restore mankind to genuine thought, it became necessary to cast aside the races, and bury the art and science of the ancient world, that the na tions might pass through the rough discip line of a second boyhood, and come at length to the old long-lost fountain with a genuine thirst. The weight of the glory of the ancient Greeks lay °on their enfeebled successors like a burden. Their strength was exhaust ed in girding on the old armour ; still im* doming themselves the wisest and most gifted of men, the only critics of beauty and of truth, their eyes were losing clear ness, and their ears discrimination; and whilst they hung on the last new subtlety of the last new sophist as on the breath of eternal wisdom, the Apostle of the nations, preaching to them Jesus and the resurrec tion, seemed to them a “babbler.’’ The Jewish nation still struggled to raise its head and regain its old sceptre, not knowing that a curse hung around it, and that the fable of the “Wandering Jew’’ pictured but too truly its immortality of restless exile; and in the midst of these falling, fallen, and doomed nations, Christ ianity, born from above, took root and grew —a principle of life in every sense —intel- lectual, moral, spiritual life to those who re ceived it; even to the world that rejected it, the preservation from decay; the life of the Church, the salt of the earth. Christi anity—or rather the Church—not a mere system revealed from above, but men, poor sinful men (with the taint of the corrupt age on them), born from above; one by one brought into direct communication with God, believing Him, regenerated by Him, commissioned by Him to go forth with a message of peace to all, poor men, for the most part (though in no age could the Church have been without its scribes as well as its fishermen), with a narrow range of thought, until they received that faith, which extended their vision over all nation al barriers to the human race, and through all mists of ignorance to the throne of God; like Lucia and Irene, knowing little of what wise men had thought, or learned men had discovered, but knowing that the Son of God had been made flesh, and had dwelt among men; that He had redeemed them#om sin and hopelessness, and that He was to return : and for this faith they were ready to die. In Jerusalem there had existed a church since the days when the Apostles and elders resided there, —scattered, indeed, to the mountains, when the city had been encom passed with armies, but returning with fond recollection to the streets where Jesus had taught, and His first martyr had died. In many respects they retained Jewish customs, hoping, perhaps, thereby to win thqir brethren after the flesh; perhaps also still fettered by the national association of more than a thousand yeais. Their bish ops all bore Jewish names. Doubtless they received Gentiles gladly, and probably did not insist on the Jewish yoke being laid on them ; but their hearts yearned affection ately over the fallen and scattered nation, so long the chosen of God. The Jews, on the other band, looked hopefully on many of these Christians; and in times of insur rection seemed to have relied on the nation al bond proving stronger than the relig ious. During the months whose course had brought so many changes to Lucia, the lodge in the vineyard above the Kedron val ley had become a place of much importance. Midnight conferences had "been held there; the vines and maize had been left to the care of Achsah and Shelomith, whilst Azor and Eleazar had devoted themselves to the more congenial occupation of keeping up communication with the various bands of insurgents, and feeding the flame of discon tent with the wild hopes of a Deliverer at hand. The mother and her little Denoni, with Ach sah, were seated in front of the lodge. The vineyard bore traces of disorder, and the ground was trodden hard, as if by many feet. - Eleazar was wandering about, unea sily watching for the return of Azor. It was already dusk before the sound of a horse’s feet, advancing rapidly, re-echoed through the rocky valley. In those days of secret plotting, Shelomith’s heart trem bled at the clattering of the hoofs in the silent place. “Could you not have come on foot?” she said, as her son dismounted, and hastened towards her. “It would seem strange your arriving so late, at such a terrifiic pace at this lonely spot.” “Seem strange to whom, dear mother?” was the laughing reply ; “surely the goats -and eagles are no traitors. Resides,” he added, respectfully saluting his father; “our days of underground plotting are nearly over; we are no longer a confederacy—we are a nation.” “What news to prove that?” asked Elea zar shortly; “dreams do not vanquish em pires,—n6r do epigrams.” “Five more fortresses are in our hands, father. The Romans have massacred wo men and children, but dare not attack us in the open field. They have sent for re inforcements ; and the Emperor has been compelled, for once, to be honest, and tell the dismal truth to the Senate. They say he has sent home polite ‘hopes that with Rome and the Senate all is well/ but has omitted the comfortable formula—‘with me and the army all is well/ ” Eleazar took one or two turns, and then resumed, in no very sanguine tone — “The substance of which is—that many of our people have been slain, and that the Emperor, in order to secure effective sue* cours, has sent an alarming message to the Senate. I do not see how that mends matters.” “But the Emperor’s decree has roused the whole nation, father; it is proclaimed everywhere that not one of our sacred rites or feasts is to be observed, and that to read or explain our law is death.” “I thank the Romans for that,/ replied Eleazar. “Despair is a firm ally.’’ “But the Messiah, father ?’’ asked Achsah timidly, fixing her eyes intently on his face. “Is not the Messiah with us; and if God is with us can there be any fear ?’’ Eleazar’s brow contracted, and there was little enthusiasm in his tone with which he replied — “There must be victory with God’s A nointed, child ; but we have many sins upon us, and I sometimes think we have scarce ly yet drunk to the dregs the cup of wrath/’ “Oh, father!’’ she replied, “is not the siege of Jerusalem, and the captivity which followed it, enough ? And,” she contin ued eagerly, “did not the Lord always have mercy on our people when they cried unto Him ?’» “When they repented, and turned to Him child.” “But have not we suffered and repented ? We do not worship the gods of the heathen now, father?’’ “No, child,’’ he replied s^dly; “but we seem to worship ourselves, and lam not sure if that is not worse.” “Oh, father, you do not worship your self?” said Achsah, flushing eagerly in her father’s defence; “have not you given up everything ? ’’ He stroked her face fondly, and turning to Azor, said— “ What message did you bring?” “The rabbis thanked you for the money; they said it was life-blood to the cause, and they trust you’ll have your reward; and as to what you said about applying part of it to rebuilding the temple, they thought it was a most pious purpose, and should be attend ed to if possible. And, father,” he contin ued, “I saw the King himself, and he is coming through our valley to-morrow.’’ “The King 1” exclaimed Achsah, turn ing deadly pale with emotion. “And he spoke to you ?” “He offered me the command of a com pany of men, to storm a highland fortress in the South/’ replied Azor, eagerly; “and father, may I accept it ?” ’ SOUTHERN CHRISTIAN - ADVOCATE. “Surely; why should my son be with held,” said the old man ; but there was some bitterness in his tone, and he added— “ Young blood is worth more than aged coun sel.” But Azor heeded not his words, full of his new military power, and of plans for his exploit. And Achsah heard him not. She sate pale and speechless. “Could be possible that to-morrow they would see the King ?” She could not sleep one moment that night—strange bewildering thoughts chased each other through her brain —old prophe cies, and sacred histories heard in the syn agogue, or from her mother’s lips;—psalms about an Anointed One, girded with truth and riding forth in majesty, ! and of glory heaptd on the head of One who was to come —the Prince of peace, the Captain of the Lord’s host, the son of Davia, the root of Jesse, the star of Jacob, God’s King, the Messiah; and then, jarring against all this, “money the life-blood of the cause”—and Azor seeming to look on it all as an ordinary war ! She wondered if it was her ignorance and childishness that made her feel different ly ; —if Joshua, and Moses, and David had, after ail, had no different feeling from Azor; and if the battles of the Lord in old times were like any other battles, and the heroes of her people like all the rest of the world, if you came close. Then came vies ions of hosts passing through seas and livers on dry land, —of an army going forth to bat tle with unarmed priests before them, sing ing praises;—of victories won, and hosts slain without a blow struck by human liandf —of a city falling before the holy ark; and then follow ed other scenes of that very ark leading that very people, in their impiety, to ruin, and the dying wail ran through her heart—“lchabod! Ichabod ! The glory is departed,” till, terrified at her own thoughts, she arose and prayed. But to whom could she pray ? To the unutterable—the God that hideth Himself; —yet* the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel. The God of Is rael ?—the God who had sent her people into captivity—who had let His holy city perish, and his temple be burned up? How could she know if He would hear—if she were* not crying to one whose face was turned away in deadly wrath ? Yet why all these fears now? To-morrow, to-mor row was not the Deliverer to come ?—she could scarcely bring ber lips to utter in prayer the words, Thine Anointed; and yet if what all believed were true, was it not far worse impiety to doubt ? So she dressed early., and, after preparing the meal she could not touch, planted herself on a rock, from which she oommanded several reaches of the valley. If she had been perplexed at night, it seemed terf times worse by day: the house, Jbmillar look, —Azor polishing his arms, lier mother about her ordinary occupations, and Benoni at bis usu al play. Did they Wally believe the Mes siah—the King of —was to pass that way ? or was it because they believed it that they were so was it only her her sowast less ? She could not rest on her first sta tion, but climbed higher and higher, hop ing to catch the first cloud of dust, or the first flash of weapons. And so she watched until the sun began to destine, end she be* gan to dread another night of suspense, when, in the farthest distance, she caught sight of a few straggling horsemen—then a few more, then a larger body. She waited not an instaut, but flew over the rocky hills UDtil she reached the vineyard. There sate Shelomith, peeling chestnuts for their eve ning meal, and little Benoni making boats of the skins. “ Mother! mother !” she exclaimed, breathless. * Shelomith looked up compos edly. “ They are coming, mother, —it must be Himself! ’’ Azor came out from the lodge. “ Are they near ?” he asked eagerly. “ I saw them from the top of the hill. ’’ “ Then they will not be here for half an hour, ”he said, turning quietly •away; and in another moment the sound of whetting steel recommenced. “ You look pale, child, ” Shelomith said; “ and no wonder. You have been all day in*the sun. Go in and rest.’’ “lam resting here, mother,” was the reply. “ But should we not mske any prepa rations-should we not gather palm-branch es ?” “ I think grapes and dates would be more acceptable to the soldiers,” was the reply— “ and I have collected all I could. Where have you been all day ?” Achsah could not reply, and just then the first horseman came insight. It was a mot ley cavalcade; some dressed in mere peas ants’ garments, armed with scythes and spears, and rough axes; —some looking less at home in the spoils of Roman legionaries ; —but all had a daring, determined air, which gave them a more military character than weeks of drilling could have bestowed. Azor hurried forward to greet the chief; Eleazar held back, in an attitude of homage; Shelomith held Benoni up to see the pro cession ; whilst Achsah stood trembling be side her, gazing, and yet scarcely ventur ing to gaze, on the leader. There was a soldierly dignity and a habit of command about him, as he spoke to her brother, which evidently impressed him; and the whole party waited on the glances of his keen, quick eye. Achsah felt that he would knpw her again, though she only caught his eye once, as she gazed immovably on him. A few parting words from her brother, and he was on horseback among the cavalcade ; and with a salutation to his father, and a loud cheer, commenced by Azor—“ Long live the star of Jacob the band swept rapid ly out of sight, and left the valley silent. Achsah stood some minutes like a statue, and then she sate down on the edge of the vine-terrace, covered her face with her hands, and burst into a flood of bitter tears. She was roused by her father’s hand on her hea i. “ What ails you child ?” “ Oh, father, I don’t know ! lam very wicked ; but I thought he would have look ed different ? “ Has not he an eye like a king? Are you such a child as to think kings must al ways ride about in crowns and purple robes ?” “ No; it was not that,” she said, gather ing courage, and looking up in his sac “ if he were only to be a king—hut God’s king, father—the Anointed l —l thought he would have looke'd holier, ihore as you look in the synagogue, or my mother when she hears Benoni pray/’ Eleazar drew his hand hastily .over his eyes, but he said nothing. “ Father,” she resumed, at length, tak ing his hand, aud looking down, “ will God look on it as a very great sin if we mistake about this ?’’ “ It would be destruction,” he murmured. “ Then,” she said, rising, and her voice deepening, “it does not seem to me like God to give us no clearer tokens by which to tell. If you sent a messenger on an er rand of life and death to me, father, would you not give me some sign I could not mis take, to know him by ? or if not, could you disown me because I did not receive him ?” “ Hush, child,” he replied ; “you must not compare the Almighty with me. He is all-wise, and we are very sinful and blind.” “ But ah, father ! the more you thought me likely to err, would you not be the more minute in every direction, so that I could not go wrong.” “ Oh, child, do not tempt me ; it seems as if some unutterable weight lay on our people, and we could not rise/’ “ Father,’’ said the little, cheerful voice of Benoni, “ mother says it is sleeping time ; won’t you come and read us a psalm ? ” MY MOTHER’S VOICE. There’s music in tne autumn wind, Around the dripping eaves ; And waere its pinions stop to play, Among the fallen leaves There’s music in the river’s flow, Along the pebbly shore, When ail the winds have gone to sleep, And boughs are swayed no more. There’s music in the cricket’s song, I hear through evening shade, Aud in the low of distant herds, Returning from the glade. There’s mus.c in the household tones, That greet the sad or gay, And in the laugh of innocence, Rejoicing in its play. But there is music sweeter far, In memory than this— The music of my mother’s voice, Now in the land of bliss. A music time may never still— I near it in my dreams, When all the fondness of her face Once more upon me beams. I know notwha’. the angel3 hear, In mansions in the skies — But there is not a sound on earth, Like mother’s ge tie voice. The tears are in my clouded eyes, And sadness m my brain, As nature wimpera to my heart, ■She will not com 3 again. A mother! oh. when she departs, Her like is never known ; The records of affection speak, Os only, only one 1 Aod brighter will that record grow, Through all the changing years— The oftener to the lip is pressed, The cup of sorrow’s tears. Cjjilta. TRY EACH DAY. A little child I am indeed, And little do I know: Much help and care I yet shall need, That I may wiser grow, If I would ever hope to do Things great and good, and useful too. But even now I ought to try To do what good I may ; God never meant that such as I, Should only live to play, And talk and laugh, and eat and drink, And sleep and wake, and never think. One gent’e word that I may speak, ” Or one kind, loving deed, May, though a trifle, poor and weak, Prove like a tiny seed ; And who can tell what good may spring From such a very little thing ? Then let me try, each day and htur, To act upon this plan : What little good in my power, To do it while I can ; If to be nieful thus I try, I may do better by and by. .» 0 -*• See wiiat “I’ll Try” can do. —“Chil- dren, those of you who will bring new schol ars to school shall be rewarded with some nice books,’’ said the superintendent of a Sunday school in Kentucky to his scholars one Sunday. “ I can’t get any new scholars,” said sev eral of the children to themselves. “ I’ll try what I can do,” said one little boy. He went home to his father, and said: “Father, will you go to Sunday school with me ?’’ “I#can’t read, my son,’’ said the father, with a look of shame. “ Our teachers will teach you, dear fa ther,’’ said he, in a respectful and affection nte manner. “Well, I’ll go,” said the father. He went. He learned to read. He be came a Christian. Then he felt so much interested in the Sunday school cause, that he engaged himself as a Sunday school col porteur, and in four years that man had es tablished four hundred Sunday schools,into which thirty-five thousand children had been gathered. Only think of all this amount of good resulting from the one ef fort of that little boy, when he said, “I’ll try/’ God paid him again more than a hun dred-fold. THE OAK TREE. Once— a long time ago —two youn'g men, named Edmund and Oswald, appeared in a court of justice. Edmund said to the judge, “ When I was going on a journey, three years ago, I gave to this Oswald, whom I then considered my best friend, a valuable ring with precious stones, to keep for me. But now he will not give the ring up to me.” Oswald laid his hand upon his breast, and said, “ I swear, upon my honor, I know nothing about the ring. My triend Ed mund must be out of his senses in this mat ter/* The judge said, Edmund, can nobody give evidence that you gave the ring to him ?” “Edmund replied, “Alas! there "was no body near; there was only an old oak tree in the field, under which we took leave of one another.” Oswald said, “I am ready to take an oath, that I know no more about the tree than I do about the ring.” The judge said, “Edmund, go and bring me a twig from the tree. I wish to see it. Meanwhile do you, Oswald, wait here till Edmund returns.” Edmund went. After a little while the judge remarked, “ Where, now, can Ed mund be remaining so long? Oswald, open the window, and see if he is not coming.” Oswald said, “ Oh, sir, he cannot come back again so soon. The*tree is above a mile distant from this place/’ Then said the judge, “ 0 thou godless liar ! who wouldst have sworn thy lie before God, the highest Judge, who looks into all hearts. Thou knowest as much about the ring as about the tree !’’ Oswald was obliged to give up the ring, and was sentenced to prison for a year. “There,’’ said the.judge, “you will find time to consider the important truth : “It comes at last, the judgment day, Which every falsehood will display.” “ Not Blessed It.”—A little boy was once invited to go home to dinner with a school fellow. He remarked with innate pleasure several attractive dishes on the plentiful board. • Exercise, and a sharp air, and the proverbial hungriness of school, had quickened his appetite. A bountiful piece of chicken, with mashed potatoes and cran berry sauce, were laid upon his plate. He did not at once, like those around, partake of it. He was requested not to wait. His companion at his side was eating heartily. At length the lady of the house inquired why he did not take his food: and he sobbed forth his reply, “You liavn’t bless’d it! You havn't bless’d it!’’ A Good Rule. — A man who is very rich now, was very poor when he was a boy. Whpn asked how he got his riches, he re plied, “ My father taught me never to play until my work was finished, and never to spend my money until i had earned it. If I had but one hour’s work in a day, I must do that the firs 4 thing, and in an hour—and after this I was allowed to play; and then could play with much more pleasure than if I had the thought of an unfinished task be fore my mind. I early formed the habit of doing every thing in time, and it soon be came perfectly easy to do so. It is to this I owe my prosperity.” _ BURKE & CO’S FARMER’S ALHANAC FOR 1866 rpHE UNDERSIGNED HAVE JUST 1 Published THE FARMER’S ALMANAC, for 18C6 Price *3 per gross For 10 gross or more, $2.50 per gross. Dealers ordering 25 gross or more, can hare their imprint and advertisement inserted without ex tra charge. Send in your orders at once to .1. W. 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